Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m going,” she said.

Lock checked his watch. “Okay,” he said. Claire flew down the stairs. “I love you,” he called out. She slammed the door.

He saw her again a few days later, and he apologized. They were both under a lot of stress, he said. Once the gala was over, things would get back to normal.

“What exactly is normal?” Claire said.

He laughed, but she did not find it funny. He changed the subject. “I saw you bought your table for the concert.”

“Matthew paid for it.”

“Matthew?”

“Max West. He sent me a check.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I didn’t have the money. Not even close.”

“You said you had money set aside.”

“I lied.”

“Jesus, Claire, if you needed money, you could have asked me.”

“What?”

“You could have asked me. I would have happily bought your table.”

“And what exactly would you have told Daphne?”

“She wouldn’t have noticed.”

“She wouldn’t have noticed?”

“It all goes through our accountant,” Lock said. “I wish you had asked me. Instead of hitting up your old rock-star boyfriend.”

“Did you actually just utter that sentence?” Claire said.

“What?” Lock said. “I would have liked to come to your rescue. I wish you’d asked me instead of Max.”

“You’re picking a fight with me.”

“I’m confused. Why did you feel you had to lie to Isabelle?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No, it isn’t. There was no pressure for you to take a twenty-five-thousand-dollar table.”

“Yes, there was.”

“You imagined there was.”

“Don’t be an ass, Lock. There was pressure. ‘We have to lead by example, I am leading by example, we have to sit up front together . . . ’ ”

She was doing a fair imitation of Isabelle’s voice, and Lock smiled.

“Don’t laugh. It’s not funny. I was bullied into it.”

“Well, you didn’t end up paying. You should be happy.”

“Happy?” she said. She was angry now. Her lips were pale and bloodless and her cheeks were blazing. He needed to let this subject go. Was he affronted that she hadn’t asked him for the money? Yes, he was, a little bit.

He grabbed her. “I want to be the person who fixes your problems. I want you to turn to me.”

“But I can’t,” Claire said. “I love you madly and badly, but I can’t depend on you for anything because you’re not mine. And you’ll never be mine, will you?”

That was the question. The affair had seemed so right when it started; it had been the answer to his prayers. But with each passing day it got more complicated. He felt himself sinking and he wanted to sink, he wanted to become utterly consumed with Claire—but he couldn’t take the final step and leave Daphne. He was certainly not willing to do it with Heather at home.

“I’m giving you everything I have,” he said.

“You’re giving me everything you have,” Claire said. “But it’s not enough.”

“It’s not?” he said.

The next day, Benjamin Franklin, treasurer of the Nantucket’s Children board of directors, walked into the office and asked Lock to see the financial records since the audit. Lock glanced at Gavin’s desk. Gavin was out for the afternoon: his parents were arriving on the island that evening, and Gavin needed time to spruce the house up, get his father’s Cherokee serviced, buy flowers and wine for his mother, et cetera, et cetera. Gavin would know where the financials were; he would be able to explain it all to Ben Franklin. Wouldn’t you just know that Ben Franklin would come while Gavin was out? Frustrating!

“Why do you want to see them, Ben?” Lock asked. This was, after all, an unusual request. Ben Franklin was reluctant at best about being treasurer, lazy at worst; he liked Gavin to do all the work for him. And Ben wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer anymore. Lock studied him. Did he even know what he was asking?

Ben chuckled. “My granddaughter Eliza works at the bank as a summer teller.”

“And?”

“And I’d like to look the books over. To see what it is you’re trying to hide.”

“Hide?” Lock said. “Gavin keeps the most impeccable books you’ve ever seen.” He stood up, and Ben trailed him to Gavin’s desk. Lock opened the filing cabinet. Financials 2007–8: a manila folder with the bank statements. He pulled it and handed it to Ben.

“And I need the donor log,” Ben said. “And a copy of the most recent budget.”

“Yep, yep, yep,” Lock said, trying not to sound impatient. One of Ben’s twenty million grandchildren worked at the bank as a summer teller, and for this reason Ben wanted to see the financials? It was a complete non sequitur. Lock logged on to Gavin’s computer, pulled up the files, and printed them out. Ben Franklin and Lock were silent as the pages printed; Lock was preoccupied with thinking who on the current board might replace Ben as treasurer. It was a thankless job; nobody wanted to do it. Lock handed the sheets to Ben. “There you go, sir. I’m sure you’ll find them all in order.”

Ben tipped an imaginary hat. “I’m sure I will.”